Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Shelley, The Moon, Artemis, and You – A Review of Dakota McFadzean's HOLLOW IN THE HOLLOWS

While
smacking of pretension, it is important that I quote a little Shelley
before I begin writing about Dakota McFadzean's new book from One
Percent Press, Hollow
In The Hollows. I
know. I know... but bear with me, it will all make sense in a moment.

To
The Moon

Art
thou pale for weariness

Of
climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

Wandering
companionless

Among
the stars that have a different birth,

And
ever changing, like a joyless eye

That
finds no worth object worth its constancy?

Okay,
that wasn't so painful, was it? As odd of a character that Shelley guy
was, he sure could write him some poetry.

In
“To the Moon” Shelley addresses the moon about its paleness, and,
while doing so, imbues the moon with his own longings and sense of
entitlement which then, of course, elevates himself to cosmic
proportions. Such was the kind of guy Shelley was. Still, let's
separate the art from the artist.

Ahem...

As
he was a neo-classicist as much as a Romantic, surely Shelley couldn't
help but look at the moon and think of the myth of Artemis, which is
where I finally get to start actually talking about Hollow
in the Hollows (this
may be called burying the lede, but fuck it, who the hell is even
reading this at this point).

When
I first read Hollow in
the Hollows, I kept
expecting more to happen. The whole book throbs and pushes towards
something vaguely ominous but never pays off in that direction. Its
ending rings hollow, as it were. Reading McFadzean here became
off-putting in this regard, especially for someone expecting some
sort of denouement, no matter how sullied or obscure.

But
something about it lingered.

Hollow
in the Hollows became
an itch that demanded scratching. There was obviously more that was
undulating below its narrative surface. It was upon reading Shelly's
poetry and thinking about the moon that, BOOM, this book bloomed
before me like a Dragon Fruit flower.

All
the symbolism is there. The moon, the deer, the forest – it all led
to Artemis, goddess of the hunt and goddess of virginity and, yes,
protector of young girls.

Once
access of this sort is granted, the heretofore tight box becomes a
open field. Hollow in
the Hollows dances in
the coming-of-age trope in a way that both celebrates and forewarns.
Not quite a cautionary tale, it resonates with the fear a burgeoning
sexuality engenders, the confusion inherent in it, and the almost
mystical aspect of change itself. Like I said, there's an ominous
tone running as an undercurrent throughout the book which never
flowers, but given the context it is the perfect choice for what
McFadzean wants his audience to walk away with.

In
terms of his art, McFadzean's stylized characters are juxtaposed
sharply with intricately detailed environments and details. Objects gain prominence in his panels, while the main characters, through a
more abstract presentation, become more universal. You were Mary at
one point in your life, you built your totems in the forest only to
have them torn apart. Your masks never looked like they did in your
mind; they only hide so much.

Using
intellectual conceits and artistic manipulation, Dakota McFadzean
creates an emotional mirror with Hollow
in the Hollows. We may
not recognize the face it reflects, but we cannot deny the feelings
it casts back.